


Pink Haze

by lotusk



Category: GOT7
Genre: Can we talk about bambam's eye mole bc it is the most beautiful thing, Concerts, Fluff, Jackson Needs a Hug, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mistaken Identity, Mosh pits are dangerous places okay?, bffs markson, jackson doesn't like crowds, kpop idols JJP, not even kidding, pink-haired markbam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 04:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6359860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotusk/pseuds/lotusk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson backhugs his best friend at a JJP concert and finds out that the person in his arms isn't his best friend. In fact, it's a complete stranger—a pink-haired stranger with a really nice voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pink Haze

**Author's Note:**

  * For [honne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honne/gifts).



Jackson hated crowds. When Mark had told him he wanted to watch the JJ Project concert in the city, Jackson’s first instinct had been to say, _nope. You know me and crowds. I'll just listen to the livestream, bye._ But Mark had been his best friend forever and he had no one else to go with and Mark knew all his weak spots. So despite his better judgement, Jackson found himself in a mosh pit, hemmed in by hundreds of semi-crazed fangirls and fanboys. 

All around him, voices were chanting _PARK JIN-YOUNG, PARK JIN-YOUNG_ and _IM JAE-BUM, IM JAE-BUM_. The noise he could handle, but the sensation of bodies pressing against him was causing him crazy amounts of stress. The only thing centering him, the only thing stopping him from fleeing the crush, was Mark. Jackson’s index fingers were curled around his best friend’s belt loops as he stood behind him. 

Mark was swaying and singing along, his eyes fixed on the stage. Jackson didn’t have to look to know that Mark’s full attention was focused on the pale-skinned, pouty-lipped singer with straight, jet black hair. The band they were watching, JJ Project, was a duo from Seoul. Jackson liked their music well enough but it didn't exactly set him on fire. There was no question about it—they were here almost entirely because Mark Tuan had a mammoth crush on Park Jinyoung. 

The other half of the duo was a charismatic guy with magenta hair that stuck out in artistic spikes. Im Jaebum, the main vocalist, was prowling the right side of the stage while Jinyoung worked the left. The two men were taking turns to belt into their mics when a crew member scuttled onto the stage. As discreetly as possible, the bespectacled man placed a four-foot high basket right on the center of the stage. Seconds later, he vanished backstage. 

“Shit!” Mark turned around, all excited. “I think they’re gonna give out souvenirs!” 

“Cool,” Jackson grinned supportively even though he had no intention of risking life and limb for a keepsake he had no use for. Well, he might make some effort to grab one for Mark but that was about as far as he was willing to go.

“ARE YOU READY?” Jinyoung and Jaebum yelled as they held up large, sunshine yellow, star-shaped plushies embroidered with the letters JJP.

“YESSSS!” The audience howled and screamed. Jackson flinched at the ruckus and took a nervous step closer to Mark. 

“CATCH ONE IF YOU CAN!” The two singers shouted in unison as they started flinging plushies at the audience. Shrieks erupted around Jackson as a wave of people swelled up from the pit—arms (and Jackson swore he saw legs too) reaching out to catch the stuffed toys as they sailed over a sea of heads and flailing limbs. The noise was overwhelming as bodies pushed and lunged and slammed into each other. 

Somewhere in the fray, Jackson lost his grip on his anchor—the only person keeping him sane in this ocean of madness. The crowd had somehow swept Mark away and Jackson scanned the faces around him in desperation. Frantic, he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "MARK TUAN! MARK TUAN! WHERE ARE YOU!" Again and again, Jackson shouted his friend's name. But the words only got swallowed up by the din of the concert. 

He’d always hated crowds, ever since the time he’d gotten separated from his parents at a theme park when he was ten. It had been the worst forty minutes of his life. The only thing that had gotten him through it was having his best friend Mark beside him. 

Jackson had been in panic mode, muttering that they were lost forever, that they’d never see their parents again, that they were going to end up homeless on the street, that is _if_ they didn’t get themselves kidnapped and killed. Meanwhile, Mark, cool-as-a-cucumber Mark, had just punched him in the arm and ordered him to calm the hell down. “Get a grip, dumbass, and help me find the damned car. We’ll just wait there. Someone will eventually find us. Everyone has to go home, right?" 

Of course, Mark had been right and Jackson’s parents had found them at the car fifteen minutes later. Mark was _usually_ right, much to Jackson's eternal chagrin. For now, though, Mark was just missing and Jackson had to find him soon. Yes, his parents had eventually found them that time at the theme park, but Jackson had _never_ gotten over the uneasiness he felt when he was surrounded by large groups of people. 

He could already feel the waves of panic creeping up his limbs. It was only a matter of time before they crashed into him full force. He had to find his anchor before that happened—

_Dammit, Mark! Where are you?_

✩

_Need to get out. Can't breathe._

There was still no sign of Mark and Jackson was on the verge of fleeing. He was about to take the first step to the exit when he saw layered pink hair, and a familiar back just a few feet in front of him, at two o’clock. 

_Mark!_

It was like seeing an oasis after stumbling around in a desert on his own. The panic started to ebb a little as he grabbed the boy in front of him and buried his face in the slender back.

“You owe me two Big Macs and a super sized Coke for all the trauma you just caused me,” Jackson grumbled as he clung to his life buoy. He exhaled in relief as the fear and stress began to roll off his body. Wrapping his arms around Mark’s waist, Jackson snuggled against his back and breathed in his comforting scent. Except, it didn’t quite smell like Mark for some reason. The scent was comforting and intoxicating but the cologne was. . .all wrong. 

“Not that I mind or anything, but. . .I usually like to know a person's name before I let them hug me at concerts.” The voice was curious and amused. But perhaps more importantly, it was a voice Jackson did not recognize.

“Shit! You're not Mark!” Jackson blurted out as he jumped backwards, his arms falling to his sides in shock.

“I don't know who Mark is but I'm pretty sure I'm not him,” the stranger laughed and Jackson wondered if his face was as pretty as his voice. “It’s nice to know you weren't just hugging a random stranger, though.”

“I’m not. I mean I wasn’t. I mean—” Jackson was generally a confident kind of guy but the crowd situation had rattled him. Severely. And finding out that he’d been hugging the crap out of a total stranger had pretty much stolen the last shreds of his composure. “I lost my friend—” Jackson said in the end because he couldn’t come up with anything more coherent.

“I hate when that happens,” the stranger said kindly as he turned around. His hair was the same ash pink as Mark’s but it was straight where Mark’s was wavy. And the pale pink tips of his fringe poked at his eyelashes while Mark’s bangs ended just above his eyebrows. There was also an open friendliness to his face—a warmth Mark would never have shown someone he was meeting for the first time. Mark was too guarded for that. 

“Me too,” Jackson said stupidly as he stared at the mole kissing the outer corner of the boy’s left eye. Jackson's grandma had once told him that moles beneath the eye were called teardrop moles because the Chinese believed they brought nothing but sadness. _Bad luck and poverty—that’s all teardrop moles are good for, child. Never marry anyone with such a mole_ , his grandma had warned. But Jackson didn’t care about all the superstitions. All he cared about was how pretty the boy’s teardrop mole looked on him. Like a blessing.

“I’m Bambam. And you must be. . .Mark’s boyfriend?” Bambam had to raise his voice so Jackson could hear, but there was a kind of lilt to it that softened the loud edges.

“Oh God, no! _Best_ friend! We’re best friends. We’ve known each other since we were six so being boyfriends would be like, seriously weird.”

"Oh," Bambam smiles and Jackson isn't 100% sure, but the other boy looks almost relieved. "I guess you'll be looking for him now."

"I just checked my phone and there are no replies to my calls or messages. He's probably too busy mooning over Park Jinyoung." Jackson had to shout over the guitars and the energetic, catchy music, but he sounded only a little bit disgruntled. Bambam was doing such a good job of distracting him from the the crowd, that Jackson could almost ignore it pushing at him, and threatening to swallow him up every thirty seconds or so.

"You're not a JJP fan?" Bambam had moved a few steps closer so they talk a little more easily.

"Just a lowkey one. _Don't_ tell anyone. I wanna walk out of here alive,” Jackson said wryly.

“I promise I won’t tell,” Bambam grinned. “But why did you even come if you’re not that into JJP?”

“Because my best friend is into JJP or more specifically, he thinks he’s in love with Park Jinyoung. He didn’t want to come alone so I’m here too. I don’t even like watching concerts. I hate crowds.”

“Why did your friend make you come then?” Bambam frowned.

“He didn't have to make me. It's just. . .we’ve been friends forever and it's what we do for each other. Like Mark _hates_ fencing. Actually, he hates any kind of sport, to be honest. But he always made it to my high school fencing tournaments. So when he said he wanted to watch JJP tonight—” Jackson shrugged, a half smile on his lips. 

“I get it,” Bambam nodded. “I hope it's not too bad for you then. Being here.”

“It. . .could be better. I mean, I can do movies because everyone gets their own seat and people don’t like get totally cray in cinemas, y’know what I mean? Sure, there’s a crowd but they’ll like line up and walk out more or less in an orderly fashion? They won’t trample you to get at a plushie or flatten you because they wanna get closer to their idols, y’know? Mosh pits, though,” Jackson said, shaking his head in disbelief. “They’re just fricking death traps.” 

Too late, Jackson realized he’d just subjected Bambam to a rambling, endless stream of nervous chatter. He’d just met the poor boy and here he was, literally talking him to death. But before Jackson could apologize for all the TMI, a tidal wave of limbs barrelled into him and knocked him over. . .right into Bambam’s surprised arms. And Bambam would have fallen too if the crowd behind him hadn’t surged forward and kept him upright.

“Death trap!” They both yelled in unison, laughing. It wasn’t weird at all that Jackson and Bambam were pressed up against each other for the second time in ten minutes. And it wasn't weird, either, that his heart was beating a little faster than it normally did. Pretty pink strands of hair lay inches away from his face and Jackson's fingers were so tempted to reach out and—

 _But strangers don't touch each other's hair, Jackson Wang_.

His fingers curled at his sides as he tried not to stare at Bambam, tried not to stare at his teardrop mole. Bambam was slender but there was a wiry strength to the arms draped around Jackson's waist. Jackson liked how solid they felt.

"Jackson?"

"Hmm?" 

"I'm not too crazy about mosh pits either." He was smiling again and Jackson felt more than just a little lightheaded.

"Yeah?" Jackson was the kind of person who never ran out of intelligent (and dumb) things to say, but right now, all the clever words he usually had at his disposal seemed to have abandoned him—like they'd leaked away and evaporated into the night.

"I don't really feel like getting trampled over a plushie so maybe we should just go outside for a while. I mean, we can come back in later. Or maybe we can just wait outside for our friends? Since you don't like crowds?" Bambam made it sound so inviting and Jackson was more than ready to get the hell out of the mosh pit. But it would be selfish of him to accept Bambam's offer, wouldn't it?

"But you came here for the concert," he pointed out. "I wouldn't expect you to miss out on watching your idols perform just because _I_ can't handle the crowd. Also, we just met and I would never expect you to miss out on the concert—"

Bambam's face dipped a little closer and Jackson's breath hitched. The teardrop mole was the cutest thing Jackson had ever seen and it was so close to him now that he wanted to die. 

"Can I tell you a secret?" The other boy's breath tickled his ear as the conspiratorial words fell from his lips.

"Sure," Jackson replied, voice shaking slightly.

"I'm just a lowkey JJP fan like you. I'm only here because my roommates Youngjae and Yugyeom think they're in love with Im Jaebum and they needed me to drive them."

"OHMYGOD," Jackson blurted out before bursting into surprised laughter. What were the chances they'd both be here because of other people?

"Let's go, Jackson." Long, slender fingers slipped into the spaces between his own, and Jackson smiled at how right Bambam's hand felt in his. Then Bambam was tugging him along and they were weaving their way to the exit. It didn't matter that they'd just met. Bambam made him smile and Bambam was taking him to a place far, far away from the crowd—


End file.
